


No Call

by exceptcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Halsey - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exceptcas/pseuds/exceptcas
Summary: It had been so long and yet not long at all. How long was four years really? It felt like ages. Dean could feel his pulse in his freakin’ neck. He told himself to stop staring before someone noticed and it got weird. But Cas turned his head and then they were looking at each other and Cas was doing that head tilt and Dean about dropped his bottle.Cas turned back to his friends. Dean turned around and faced the bartender. His heart was in his stomach and throat at the same time. Cas had seen him and ignored him. Or maybe he didn’t remember Dean. That option stung. Dean peeled the label on his beer and tried to calculate if he had enough money in his account to get blackout drunk tonight.While celebrating Sam's bachelor party in Vegas, Dean runs into Cas. | This is based off of the song "Closer" by Halsey.





	No Call

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank [rocksaltandhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocksaltandhoney) as well as [khymeira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khymeira/pseuds/Khymeira) for editing this story! rocksaltandhoney really helped make sure cas was all he could be and I appreciate it immensely!

          Dean had to wonder how he had ended up as the designated driver at his own brother’s bachelor party. Really, it was cruel. They were in _Vegas._ Wasn’t it in the unwritten Vegas code that everyone had to be at least a little drunk at all times?

          Sammy had been the one to pick the joint, citing his drunken need for hot wings as the reason Dean now sat in a sports bar, sipping Dr. Pepper while his brother and their friends got hammered. Being sober was strange enough for Dean, but being sober in a sports bar? That was some next level weirdness.

          The waitress brought another round of shots and the part of the table that was _allowed_ to drink whooped and hollered. Benny doled the shots out, setting one in front of each of them like he was freaking Oprah. _Charlie gets a shot, Kevin gets a shot, Sam gets a shot._ They clinked their glasses together, sloshing tequila on the table. Then they were slamming the shots back, scrunching their faces at the sweet burn of it and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous.

          Sam gave a loud laugh over the noise as Charlie shook her head, red hair whipping around. She blinked and opened her eyes ridiculously wide. She slammed her hands on the table.

          “Okay. As much as I am _loving_ this aggressively macho get-together, I would really love it if we could actually go to that strip club Dean promised. I’ve got nothing but dollar dollar bills y’all.” Charlie said, pretending to throw cash in the air.

          “Yeah,” Benny said, “Then Kevin can experience the wonders of the female anatomy for the first time.”

          “I’ve seen girls without their clothes on before, Benny.” Kevin said, voice deadpan and dry.

          “Outside of a computa?” Benny smirked.

          “Um, we actually aren’t going to a strip club.” Sam said. He was trying to be gentle about it. That was just Sam, sweet Sam, and right now it was irritating the crap outta Dean.

          The news was met with a general outcry of _what_ ’s and _why_ ’s and _the hell am I supposed to do with all this cash then_ ’s.

          “Yeah, that was Sammy’s call. He’s saving himself for marriage.” Dean snarked.

          Sam shot him the classic _shut-your-mouth_ pinched face.

          “No, I’m not. I just think it’s a bad idea to go into a marriage thinking about all the things I’m not going to be able to do again instead of focusing on Jess.” Sam said, grabbing his half-finished beer from the crowd of bottles on the table.

          “Translation: I don’t want a hot chick to lap dance the stick outta my a-”

          “Dean! Knock it off,” Sam said. He looked hurt. Those stupid puppy dog eyes made Dean’s face flush with shame. Yet Sam knocked back some booze and then Dean just couldn’t shut his dumb mouth.

          “Sorry if some of us wanna have a little _fun._ It’s a party, Sam. You can let your hair down and check out a few chicks before you get tied down to the same one forever.”

          The rest of the table was silent, looking at their hands or focusing _very_ intently on the football game on the screen overhead. It was just Sam and Dean, caught in a staring contest. Sam was winning. He was also fuming; smoke was practically pouring out his ears.

          “Can you guys excuse us for a minute?” Sam said, not breaking eye contact with his brother.

          Sam hauled Dean out into the alley. It was grimy and the smell of trash was overpowering. Lights glimmered out beyond the lip of the walls, but here it was all dark save for a safety light over the door.

          Sam just stared at him for a minute, silent. He had that unwavering, unnerving look that always got Dean to speak first. _Not this time,_ Dean thought. He braced himself against the bricks and tried not to consider how many bodily fluids coated the ground.

          Sam was huffing still, hands on his hips. So many insults popped into Dean’s mind at the image but he knew calling Sam ‘Mom’ right now would only make things worse. Dean sighed and rubbed his head.

          “Man, I need a drink.” He mumbled.

          Sam squinted, folded his arms. “I knew it.”

          “What?”

          “I knew that’s what this was about.”

          Dean rolled his eyes like Sam hadn’t just figured out exactly what was wrong in ten seconds flat. “What’re you talking about?”

          “You’re pissed because you don’t get to drink tonight. Man, Dean, this is exactly why I didn’t want to come in the first place.”

          “Sam, I think there’s a dude getting shanked just a few bricks down from us, okay? So let’s just go back in and-“

          “C’mon, Dean! Just admit it!”

          “Admit what, Sam? That I want to have a little hooch? Yeah, fine, okay. You win. Can we go back inside now or…?”

          Sam shook his head, the safety light pouring white-gold on his shoulders. He looked like a freaking Renaissance martyr. He looked burdened. And it was Dean’s fault. Again. Now he really needed a drink.

          “Sammy, c’mon. What’s the big deal?”

          “The big deal?” Sam looked up at him with that wrinkle in his brow. “This morning, you were hungover and puking your guts out in the tub. You _blacked out_ at my engagement party, Dean. You know why I asked you to be the designated driver tonight?”

          “‘Cause I’d never let you touch my car?”

          “Because I’m sick of having to scrape you off the floor of some bar!” Sam shouted. His voice echoed back at them off the alley walls and trash cans, distressed and strained and sharp at every end. Sam sighed and ran his hands over his face. “I actually wanted to enjoy _my_ bachelor party with my brother. And instead I’m standing in an alley having an intervention.”

          Dean’s ears pricked up. “Intervention? What, you think I’m an addict? You think I’m a freakin’ alcoholic, Sam?”

          His brother wouldn’t look at him. Sam stared out to the street. “I think you have a problem, Dean.”

          Dean couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped his mouth. “Yeah, that’s the first step, right? Admitting you have the problem. Then what? We’re all holdin’ hands around a campfire, singin’ freakin’ Kumbaya? _I’m fine_ , Sam.”

          Sam opened the door to the bar. The noise of it poured out, voices and glass clinking sharper yet removed from Dean entirely.

          “Tonight isn’t the night. Let’s just go. The others are waiting for us.”

          Sam went inside without waiting for Dean to follow.

 

          Back at their hotel, Dean hauled Sam out of the elevator and into their room. Sam was hammered and giggly, laughing at everything and repeatedly booping Dean on the nose. He was leaning heavy on Dean’s shoulder and they both were covered in confetti from a midnight screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which – in Sam’s defense – had been a lot more entertaining than a strip club would’ve been.

          Dean helped Sam get into bed and took off his shoes. He laid out water and aspirin on the nightstand – a standard Winchester practice he was usually on the receiving end of. Sam mumbled into the floral bedspread and curled around a pillow. While he settled in, Dean moved back across the room and eased open the door.

          Sam’s words from earlier kept repeating themselves, a merciless loop, in Dean’s mind. He wanted to pretend that it was just Sam, annoyed at his annoying older brother, not Sam, concerned that Dean was drinking himself into a corner. Dean needed to pretend or at the very least, forget. He gripped the doorframe. _Just one drink._

          “Dean,” Sam mumbled.

          Dean watched him for a second from the doorway, the glow of the hall casting his shadow on the floor. He waited for Sam to sit up, level that sober, brotherly stare at him - disappointment and shame at their relation. He’d been waiting for it for years, holding his breath for the day Sam would close himself off from his poisonous older brother forever.

          “Thanks,” Sam sighed, half-obscured by the pillow. He shifted and turned to his other side.

          Dean heaved a sigh and shut the door.

          The hotel bar was dark and glowing, ambient blue light dancing under the bar and overhead. Though it was almost two in the morning, it was still fairly packed. Dean took an empty seat at the bar and ordered a beer.

          He knew Sam would be righteously pissed at him if he knew Dean was here, sipping on a drink and trying to get buzzed. But Sam didn’t get it either. He didn’t know the way Dean needed something to take the edge off because he was always on edge. He always had this thing inside him that was dull and empty and the only way to get rid of it, at least for a while, was to sit in a place like this and drink it away.

          Dean took a long pull of his beer and leaned back against the bar to survey the room. It was mostly people in button-down shirts with lanyards around their necks and sipping martinis at every available booth or table. Dean had seen the signs around the hotel, the ones mentioning they were hosting a botany and biology conference. He’d been tempted to go sit in on a panel or two.

          Dean’s gaze caught on a man across the room.

          The guy was relaxed, resting an arm on the back of his seat while he talked to the people next to him. He had dark hair and one of those dumb lanyards over a flannel shirt. The blue glow overhead lit him in a halo and Dean’s breathing stopped.

_Cas._

          It had been so long and yet not long at all. How long was four years really? It felt like ages. Dean could feel his pulse in his freakin’ neck. He told himself to stop staring before someone noticed and it got weird. But Cas turned his head and then they were looking at each other and Cas was doing that head tilt and Dean about dropped his bottle.

          Cas turned back to his friends. Dean turned around and faced the bartender. His heart was in his stomach and throat at the same time. Cas had seen him and ignored him. Or maybe he didn’t remember Dean. That option stung. Dean peeled the label on his beer and tried to calculate if he had enough money in his account to get blackout drunk tonight.

          “Hello, Dean.”

 _Holy hell_ , Dean thought. He tried not to choke on his beer as he looked at Cas, who’d come to sit  directly next to him.

          “Castiel, hey.”

          It’d been four years, but he still had that scruff, that same wild bedhead that could never be tamed. The flannel was new, clinging close to Cas’ biceps and-

          Dean shook his head. _Play it cool, Winchester._ His mouth was so dry all of the sudden.

          “What’re you doin’ here?” He asked.

          Cas nodded out to the crowd of people. “I’m here for the conference. My new boss is one of the keynote speakers.”

          “Right on.”

          “What are you doing here?” The careful way Cas said it had Dean feeling like he was crossing a line by being here.

          “Bachelor party. Sam’s getting hitched.” Dean said, focusing on peeling off the bottle’s label.

          “To Jess?”

          Dean nodded.

          “That’s wonderful. I always thought they made a wonderful couple.”

          “Yeah. I, uh, would’ve told you about it but you know… you changed your number.”

          He stole a glance at Cas. He was fiddling with the plastic card at the end of his lanyard.

          “I know,” Cas said, looking back up at him. He squinted a bit. “I’m sorry about that.”

          Dean cleared his throat. “It’s all good. So. Uh, how’ve you been? Where’re you at now?”

          “I’ve been good. I graduated, got a job at a research facility. I moved here, actually.”

          Dean quirked a brow at that. “To Vegas?”

          “Yes.”

          “Wow, Castiel Novak in Las Vegas. Sounds like a summer blockbuster to me.”

          Cas smiled. “How are you, Dean?”

          Dean resisted the urge to laugh. “I’m good. Yeah. Freakin’ peachy.” He took another long haul of his drink while Cas watched.

          “I’m going to guess that you’re not actually ‘peachy.’”

          “Gee, what gave it away?”

          Dean didn’t know why he was acting like this. He hadn’t seen Cas in ages and honestly, he was glad to see him. But he was suddenly wanting to go for the throat of anyone who talked to him.

          He looked at Cas again. Honestly, he looked _pretty_. His lips were pale pink and chapped, stubble was lining his face, and his eyes were crazy blue. Four years and those eyes kept making guest appearances in his dreams.

          “Sorry,” Dean said, running a hand over his head. “Sorry, it’s uh,” He gave a huffing laugh, “It’s been a long night.”

          “Would you like to talk about it?”

          Dean shook his head. “Nah. I’d rather, you know, catch up with my old…”

          He didn’t know what word even applied anymore.

          “Me too.” Cas said with a soft grin, placing a hand on Dean’s knee.

          Dean set his bottle down. “So uh-“

          “Cassie! You left all us chaps waiting in the back. Where is that wine you promised?”

          Dean and Cas both turned to see a man with a goatee and a deep v-neck grinning at them, hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He looked taken aback when he saw Dean.

          “Oh, you are one handsome fellow. What are you talking to Cassie here for when you could be talking to me?”

          Though the guy seemed like he was flirting with Dean, he was pressing closer to Cas, wrapping an arm around his neck. Dean glanced at Cas who had that wrinkled, mildly annoyed expression on his face. His eyes met Dean’s. A few years ago, that look alone would have been license enough for Dean to outright deck this guy. But things had changed and for all he knew, this could be Cas’ new, overly flirty boyfriend.

          “I think you’ve had enough to drink, Balthazar.”

          Balthazar slapped him on the back. “I don’t think I’ve had _enough_ to drink.” He laughed and nudged Dean, like they were on the ins of a joke together.

          This dude was definitely the wine mom of the group. Dean about said as much but held his tongue when he saw Cas holding his face like he was horribly embarrassed. Dean didn’t wanna make it any worse for him. But he also didn’t want to hang around and watch a drunk guy slobbering all over Cas.

          Dean knocked back the rest of his drink and pointed at Castiel. “I’ll catch you later. See ya, Cas.”

          He slapped some cash on the counter and headed out of the bar, down the dark, neon-lit hall to the bathrooms. He wasn’t even freakin’ buzzed but he felt unsteady on his feet. Dean leaned against the wall and shut his eyes.

          It was just… weird. Seeing Cas again went dredging up a whole crazy mix of crap Dean had been shoving down since… Man, he didn’t wanna think about that.

          Dean wiped his dry eyes and pulled out his phone. _2:24 a.m_. Still early. He wasn’t drunk enough to sleep but there was no way he was going back into the bar.

          “Dean.”

          It was a deep rasp, familiar and close. Dean opened his eyes. Cas was standing next to him and Dean practically jumped out of his skin.

          “Dude! You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” Dean huffed.

          Cas tilted his head at Dean like _he_ was the weird one. “Sorry. Um. I wanted to apologize for Balthazar’s behavior. He’s just…”

          “Drunk?”

          “Yes.” Cas met Dean’s eyes and it was just habit, glancing at Cas’ lips when they were this close. Cas never did grasp the whole ‘personal space’ thing.

          “Just how you like ‘em.”

          There it was. Cas’ features darkened and it hurt to see him like that but Dean was the one lashing out and he didn’t get to feel hurt while he was doing the hurting. He gave an ugly, ragged laugh under his breath and patted Castiel on the shoulder.

          “Tell your friend it was nice to meet him but uh, I hope I never do again.” Dean said.

          He went to move past Cas and leave but Cas blocked the way, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked at it like it might burn.

          “I liked _you_. Drunk or not.” Cas said.

          Dean swallowed. “Yeah, well.”

          Cas gave a soft smile and stepped back. That smile, it made Dean’s chest ache. There was still that understanding between them, a line Dean thought had already dropped between them. He looked at Cas here and couldn’t help but notice how, even for all the similarities to Dean’s old Cas he bore, this wasn’t the same guy he knew four years ago. This guy had a new job, new friends. This guy didn’t have Dean dragging him down and he looked all the better for it.

        “Well, seriously, it’s been great seeing you but I think your friends are probably gonna start asking questions if you don’t head back in there.” Dean gave a big smile and clapped Cas on the shoulder, amiable. “You look great, Cas.”

        “Thanks,” Cas said. “I don’t think they’ll be asking any questions though. I was just headed out anyway. Are you going back to your room?”

        Dean shook his head. “Nah. I’m probably gonna duck outta here, see what kind of booze the real Vegas has to offer.”

        This seemed to catch Cas off guard. He glanced away for a moment, like he was looking for an exit strategy. _Nice going, Winchester._

        “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Cas said, glancing back at him. He ducked his head slightly. “I mean, perhaps you should get some rest. You look tired, Dean.”

        Dean scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Gee, thanks, Cas.

        Cas rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. It just sounds like you’ve had a long day. If you really want to see what kind of alcohol there is in the city, I’d be happy to show you around this Friday. Vegas and it’s ‘booze’ will still be here by then.”

        Was Cas asking him out or offering to be a babysitter? Either way…

        “I can’t. Tonight’s all I got. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”

               Cas paused again, looking at the floor, silent and deep in thought.

        “Um. Okay. I was just about to head home. Would you like to come with me, have a drink there? We can catch up.”

          Maybe it was because it was still early, maybe it was because the one drink he’d had was somehow kicking in, or maybe it was just that he had missed Cas– but Dean said yes. He followed Cas out of the dark hallway and into the light.

 

          The Las Vegas strip lit Castiel’s face in a pink glow. Dean followed him to the hotel parking lot, shoulders knocking.

          “Are you still driving the Impala?” Cas asked, winding through the rows of cars.

          “You even have to ask?”

          Cas laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

          They fell silent for a moment. The sky felt heavy, bright and dark at once, right over their heads.

          “What about you?” Dean asked. “Still driving the pimp-mobile?”

          “No. Bobby called it a safety hazard so I upgraded it.”

          “You, uh, you still talk to Bobby.” Dean said, putting his hands in his pockets.

          Cas fiddled with his keys. “Yes.”

          “Hm.”

          He could feel Cas staring at him, that unwavering, overly keen gaze lingering on Dean’s profile. Dean ignored it. Tried to. But Cas stopped and Dean kept walking. He whirled around.

          Here was Cas, glowing under the rainbow whirl of lights, his hair wild and head tilted. Cas, studying him, too smart for his own good and reading Dean like a freakin’ book.

          “You’re mad.” Cas said and Dean scoffed.

          “I’m not mad.” Dean stated, final answer. Cas kept looking. Dean swung his arms wide, _look at me, I’m fine._ “I’m not mad! I swear, next time someone tells me I’m mad, I’m gonna start throwing punches.”

          Cas smiled and leaned against the car. How did he look so relaxed while Dean’s heart was tying itself into knots?

          “Are you done?” Cas asked.

          Dean blinked. Of course Cas would make him feel like he was being a drama queen. He frowned and stared at the car Cas leaned against.

          “Yeah, I’m done.” He muttered.

          “Great. Care to join me?”

          Cas slapped a hand against the back of the car – a black SUV, brand new with glossy paint and a Coexist bumper sticker – and went around to the passenger’s side. He opened the door and stared at Dean, who was staring at the car.

          “This is yours?” Dean asked, walking closer.

          “No, Dean. I’m pretending just to impress you.”

          There was that famous Cas sass. Dean smirked against his will and climbed inside. Cas shut the door for him – always the gentleman – and went around to the driver’s side.

 

          It was a quick drive; Castiel didn’t live too far outside the city. It was a fairly quiet drive too. Castiel’s music turned on with the car, his iPod auxed up and sitting in a cup holder. They spent half the ride listening to Frankie Valli and Cas’ soft humming. The gentle sway of the car under Cas’ hands, the rise and fall of his quiet voice, it was all so familiar as Dean leaned his head against the glass. Dean exhaled, settled into the seat and looked at Cas to keep himself from drifting off in the silence.

          There was something missing. The long stretch of road, Cas beside him, it was years of comfort washing back over him but it was hollow, a warped imitation of the real thing. They used to hold hands in this scene. He could ruffle Cas’ hair and try to make him laugh.

          “You’re staring.”

          “Hm?” Dean sat up straighter, pointed at himself. “Me?”

          Cas smiled wide. “Yes, Dean, you.”

          “Me. Hmm.” He turned to look out his own window.

          “Something interesting?” Cas asked, glancing over at Dean, a sly expression on his face. _Cat, meet canary._

          Dean didn’t look back, just stared out at the strip malls and dark sky. “Just you.”

          Dean could feel the warmth of that smile with his back turned. He turned to look. Cas watched the road, always a responsible driver, with a gentle upturn of his mouth. That lanyard of his hung low, the plastic card settling into his lap.

        “How’s the new job going?” Dean asked.

        Cas spared a glance at him before looking back at the road. He shrugged. “Pretty well. There is a lot of research involved. It’s nice, getting paid to read about plants.”

        “I’ll bet.” Dean grinned. “You seem like you’re doin’ pretty great here. I mean, you gotta be doin’ pretty well for yourself to get a set of wheels like this.” Dean ran his hand along the dashboard, a reverent gesture he usually reserved for Baby.

        “I think so,” Cas said. “It was difficult for awhile after you…”

        He paused. Dean looked at him again. There wasn’t that fondness in Cas’ expression; only a glancing shadow of pain. Dean made himself look at that sadness even though he wanted to turn away. Cas exhaled, smiled.

        “But I pulled myself together. Living by myself, living for myself, I think that’s something I needed.” Cas made eye contact with Dean. “I think you needed it too.”

          They pulled into a driveway, concrete runway to a stucco house. It was, hilariously enough, white picketed, the straight slats containing Cas’ greenthumb handiwork in the front garden. His gloves were still limp on the porch steps, one on top of the other. As they walked to the door, Dean couldn’t help but nudge them with the toe of his boots.

          “Thought you never wore gloves when you worked,” Dean said. “Something about being connected to the earth, right?”

          Cas busied himself unlocking the door, keys jangling, head bent more than necessary. Dean cleared his throat.

          “I mean, don’t get me wrong. They’re cool gloves. I just thought you didn’t wear ‘em.”

          The door unlocked. Cas pushed it open and paused, hand still on the handle. “You gave them to me. Of course I wear them.”

          He stepped inside. Dean followed, shut the door behind him.

          “Gee, got enough books, Cas?”

          Cas laughed. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were all right there, bookshelves lining most walls at varying heights. It looked like he’d scavenged them from the street, the styles and colors ranging drastically from the standard Ikea to the four-boards-screwed-together deal. There were the blankets, patchwork and slung over the couch, and various prints on the walls - bees, Beyonce, angels. It was overwhelmingly _Cas._

          “I like to read. You know that, though.” Cas said from the kitchen. He was pouring himself a drink. A single glass. Dean wasn’t going to ask for one, no matter how much his fingers itched for it.

          “Yeah, I know.” Dean chuckled.

          Dean stood by the door, hands in the pockets of his jacket. There was so much to look at and nothing he felt he could touch. The frames on the shelf beside him starred Castiel’s siblings, Anna and Gabriel, with their arms slung around Cas, diploma in his hand and graduation cap sitting funny on his head.

          “You _can_ sit down, you know.” Cas said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

          Dean nodded, still surveying the frames, the arrangement of things on the walls. He could see Cas, disheveled on a summer day, staring at his boxes and mentally setting up the place, an artist sketching in his mind. Cas set his glass down.

          “I could give you the tour, if you would like.”

          This caught Dean’s attention. Cas already looked like a tour guide with that stupid lanyard and his shirt tucked in to his jeans. **_Cas_ ** _in_ **_jeans_ ** _._ That’d crack the top five on the list of _Things Dean Winchester thinks about when he should actually be showering._

          “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

          Cas smiled and came to stand by him at the front door, shoulders touching.

          “Um. Well. Here’s the living room.” He said, gesturing broadly “That is where I sit and live.”

          Dean snorted. “Cozy.”

          “As it should be. This is the dining room, where I sit and eat. And there is the kitchen where-”

          “You stand and cook?”

          Cas looked at him. “Yes. And the bathroom is down the hall. So now that you know where everything is, you can make yourself at home.”

          Dean cracked a grin and slapped a hand on Cas’ back. “So, su casa es mi casa?”

          “You mean ‘tu.’” Cas said.

          “‘I mean to’ what?”

          Cas shook his head, chuckled. “Nothing. Yes, it’s your _casa._ ”

          Dean stepped away, looking from ceiling to floor. He put a good show on, glancing around the place like he was one of those HGTV bobbleheads shuffling around a too-clean apartment while the realtor watches them scratching their heads. Cas just stood there, staring.

          “Soooo,” Dean started. “If this is my place… where’s my bedroom?”

          He’d been deliberately avoiding eye contact but he turned to look Cas straight in the face. This whole setup - the meeting in the bar, an invitation back to someone’s place - it was a tale as old as time, but their history was putting a confusing twist on it. Cas had been friendly enough on the drive over but he’d also _put his hand on Dean’s knee_ in the bar. If he’d misread the situation, he could always pass this off as a dumb joke, funny ha ha.

          Cas stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at Dean. He tilted his head and Dean’s stomach turned. Kill Bill sirens went off in his skull. _Nice going, asshat. He was just being nice to his old pal with a drinking problem. He probably just wanted to get you away from the bar._

          Then Cas moved closer. Dean held his breath.

          “Follow me.”

          They went down the hall, past the aforementioned bathroom, past a linen closet. The bedroom door was ajar. Cas went in and leaned against the wall. Dean followed him in.

          “Here’s ‘your’ room.” Cas said.

          It was really just a bed and a desk, the closet doors neatly closed. The bed was made and the desk was clean. No posters. No bookcases.

          “Am I monk?” Dean asked.

          Cas shook his head. “For one, monks have their heads shaved. ‘You’ have great hair.”

          “My hair always looks like I just had sex,” Dean said, “Which, monks don’t have.”

          “Yes, you are definitely not celibate.”

          Dean smirked and turned away, facing the bed. The sheets were neatly tucked, a military fold to the corners, just like Dean had taught him.

          “So, that guy. Back at the bar with the uh, with the Hasselhoff shirt.”

          “Balthazar.”

          “Yeah, that guy.” Dean sat down on the bed. “Are you guys… you know?”

          “Dating?”

          “Among other things.”

          Cas rolled his eyes and came to sit beside him. _Personal space who?_

          “No, Dean. Balthazar and I are not dating. He’s just…”

          “A prick?” Dean guessed.

          “Enthusiastic.” Cas finished, flatly. He sighed and leaned back on his hands. “He’s a very touchy person. Hands-on, I suppose. It’s how he shows he cares.”

          “ _Oh_ , he definitely cares. Nothing like coppin’ a feel of your pal to show him just how much you appreciate ‘em.” Dean snorted.

          Cas gave him a dirty look. “It’s not like he was feeling me up, Dean.”

          “Hey, I wouldn’t have put it past him to try.”

          “He had his arm on my shoulders. That’s typically acknowledged as a friendly gesture.” Cas said.

          Dean sat up straighter, wagged his finger at Cas. “No, no, no. _This,_ ” He said, throwing his arm around Cas’ shoulders. He kept it casual, a safe distance between their bodies. It was a cheesy family portrait pose. “ _this_ is a friendly gesture. Your pal, Budweiser-”

          “Balthazar.”

          “-was doing _this._ ” Dean shifted closer, pressing their sides together, his arm hooked around Cas’ neck. He was a few inches away from leaning their heads together. He gestured at their bodies with his free hand. “ _This_ is not friendly. This is a date at the movies with the armrest up. If you were a chick, we’d already be at second base.”

          Cas laughed and Dean felt it in his chest.

          “Alright, you may have a point.”

          “Of course I have a point. Besides, what kind of friend lets you walk around wearing this dorky crap in a _bar?_ ” Dean asked, grabbing Cas’ lanyard.

          Cas laughed even harder. It was like a drug, making Cas laugh. He pulled the lanyard off, Cas bowing his head to help. Dean held it up like a dead fish.

          “See? True friends don’t let each other walk around looking like virgins at a virgin convention.”

          Dean threw it across the room and Cas fell back on the bed, laughing. His shirt came untucked, flannel pulling up just enough to show his hips. Dean fell back next to him and stared at the blank ceiling.

          “Thanks for being a true friend,” Cas chuckled, turning to look at Dean’s profile.

          “No problem,” Dean said to the ceiling.

          He had missed this right here, so much: being next to Cas, the whole world quiet outside these walls. Four years between them and what they used to be and they could still lay next to each other without an awkward silence. Four years and Dean could still feel this at night, the steady weight of Cas beside him, albeit much closer than this. He turned to look at Cas.

          Cas was watching him, streetlight moving over the sharp planes of his cheeks and scruff. His hair stuck up and there was a dimple in the corner of his mouth. His eyes traveled over Dean’s face, a slow path that had Dean’s heart racing.

          “Heya, Cas.” Dean whispered.

          “Hello, Dean.”

          It felt like an eternity, the span between them, but Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and suddenly Dean felt saved, like he could do anything. Cas pulled him closer. He put his hand on Dean’s jaw, gentle as ever. Dean could feel Cas’ breath, the warmth of it, the rise and fall of Cas’ chest right next to his.

          Cas kissed him slow. It was familiar, the line of his mouth against Dean’s. He pushed a hand through Dean’s hair and ran the other along his back. There was a tenderness in the way he moved against him, tender as he rolled on top of Dean.

          In the span of their time apart, Dean had been with other people. Sure, it’d been fine; he didn’t mind being slammed against a wall or a table and just being ripped apart. But there was always the morning thing - _hey, that was fun._ And then the _adios._ Always the adios. This, here with Cas, was different. This was bodies slotting together just right after ages of not fitting anyone at all. This was remembrance, this was coming home. Cas kissed him with the promise of a morning free of goodbyes.

  


          After it was over - the touching and the feeling all of each other, hands everywhere, tracing every inch of each other’s bodies, the two of them moving together - they laid beside each other, Cas’ head on Dean’s shoulder.

          “Man, I’ve missed this.” Dean said to the ceiling.

          “Me too.” Cas murmured.

          Dean glanced at the clock beside Cas’ bed. There were still hours until Sam would probably be up. He had time to stay, if Cas would let him.

          “Dean.”

          “Yeah, Cas?”

          “Why’d you leave?”

 _There it is_. Dean's chest tightened. He wished he could play dumb, pretend Cas meant why he left the bar. Pretend that he wasn't asking why, four years ago, Cas got home from work one day and Sam was there, packing Dean's things.

          “I thought it was supposed to be cigarettes after sex, not interrogations.” Dean tried.

          “Dean, please.”

          Dean looked back to the ceiling. He’d known since the moment he’d made eye contact with Cas in the bar that this question was a possibility. It was the elephant in every room. Hell, it was the whole zoo. _Why did Dean Winchester leave the best person in his life, the only one who wasn’t obligated to stay because of a biological connection? Researchers mystified, New York Times says._

          “I’m poison, Cas.”

          There it was, plain and simple. Cas wrinkled his brow.

          “What do you mean?”

          Dean cleared his throat. He stared at the plaster on the roof. “I mean… you know what I mean, Cas.”

          He only got silence. Cas waited. Dean sighed.

          “I wasn’t good enough for you. You’re this amazing, botanist boy wonder. You do all this great crap and I what? What did I do? Finish a six pack by myself every Friday night? Maybe make you breakfast? I was a semi-functioning-”

          The word broke off in an ugly choke. _Say it, you wimp._ “I was a functioning alcoholic and now I don’t even know if I can still call it functioning. And, uh, I didn’t wanna put that on you, ya know? Not anymore. You had all these great people and I was just… Anyway. I’m sorry, Cas.”

          He turned his head, looked at Cas straight on. Cas was watching him with an unreadable expression.

          “You think you’re a burden.” Cas wasn’t asking a question. It was a statement, rock solid and unshaking.

          “That’s one way of putting it.”

          Cas sat up in a huff, leaning over Dean. He searched Dean’s face, jaw tight.

          “Dean Winchester, you were not, nor are you now, a burden. If you need help, if you want to fix this, we will fix it, like we always do. But you didn’t have to leave.”

          It was embarrassing to cry in front of Cas. And yet, a single tear ran down Dean’s cheek, like he was a film noir dame. He wiped it away. “I know.”

          Cas laid on Dean’s chest and let the silence seep in, giving Dean a chance to breathe.

          “So,” He said after a moment, “What do you think of my mattress?”

          Dean raised a brow at him. “Quite a leap there, Cas.”

          “It’s called changing the subject to ease the tension. I thought you of all people would be familiar.” Cas grinned and Dean had to laugh.

          “Yeah, it’s great.” Dean said.

          “Can I tell you something?”

 _Weird segway but okay._ Dean ran a hand through Cas’ hair. “Go ahead, man.”

          Cas smiled wide. “I stole it.”

          “What?”

          “I stole this mattress.”

          “ _What?_ ” Dean asked.

          Cas patted the mattress like it was a dog’s head, _there there, good boy._ “My final year in Colorado, we graduated and I stole my roommate’s mattress.”

          “Why the hell would you do that?”

          “It’s memory foam.”

          Dean blinked. “ _Memory foam?”_

          Cas smiled, straightened up like he was proud. “It remembers me.”

          Now Dean had to laugh. He finally remembered what Cas was getting at; _years ago, mattress shopping for their soon-to-be-apartment, Dean flopping on a memory foam one and pitching it to Cas just like that._

          “Don’t quote me to me.” Dean grinned.

          “It was a good line,” Cas smiled. “And the rest of it was just as good.”

          Dean furrowed his brows, trying to remember that day. _He had grinned from the pillows, shooting a bedroom eyes look at Cas, who stood laughing at the end of the bed. He had shifted up onto his knees and moved toward Cas, grabbing him by the waist and saying-_

          “ _‘And it'll remember you too.’_ ” Dean groaned, cringing at his past self’s rocky game. “You thought that was a good line?”

          Cas shrugged. “It got me into bed, so I would call it a success.”

          He was right; _Cas had crawled onto the mattress beside him, showroom comforter wrinkling beneath his knees. They'd laid there, too close, until someone came to kick them out. And when they got home…_ Dean looked at Cas now, staring off into space with red-tipped ears.

          “Yeah, it got you into bed and then it got you _into bed_ ,” Dean said, his patented Player Grin filling up his face.

          “You always could manage that.” Cas said.

          “What? Getting you into bed?” Dean asked. “Yeah, I think this right here kinda proves I still got my mojo.”

          Castiel laughed and moved in closer. “Yes, I guess it does.”

          Dean wrapped Cas up and closed his eyes. He’d say he was just tired, if Cas were to ask, but he was running his fingers over Cas’ ribs and hoping he could remember how this felt forever.

 

          Dean woke up to an empty bed. _Always the adios_ , he thought, stretching his arms above his head. The sleep-sullen part of him fumbled around the nightstand, reaching for his phone. It wasn’t there and his hand instead knocked into an alarm clock - an object Dean Winchester did not own. He finally dragged himself up to lean against the headboard. This is when he was brought to the fully-conscious realization that this wasn’t his bedroom and that the guy who pulled his clothes off last night wasn’t just some random hookup. He heard Cas singing down the hall.

          Dean pulled on his boxers and wandered down the hall and into the kitchen. Cas was at the stove, singing along to _The Greatest American Hero_ theme which played from his phone on the counter. Cas’ hair was wet and he was fully dressed. His back was turned to Dean as he grilled bacon and sang, swaying along with the music. Dean moved closer and wrapped himself around Cas, tucking his face into the crook of Cas’ neck and swaying with him, a reminder of the good old days and a promise of the future to come.

          “ _-too good to be true,”_ Cas crooned, half-off key. He turned to face Dean. “ _Look at me, falling for you._ ”

  



End file.
